


take your shoes off, man

by mwildsides



Category: Captain America
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, surfing shenanigans basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-27 00:10:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mwildsides/pseuds/mwildsides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s November, not quite winter, so the is water rough. And this is what they live for, the slightly cooler, rougher waters, early mornings, and for Natasha (and most of the rest of the island), taking days off work in favor of spending them at the Pipeline. It’s salt and sand and lava rock, board wax and resin and sunscreen, and even though he ended up here by chance, he really doesn’t want to live anywhere else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	take your shoes off, man

**Author's Note:**

> this, after talking about surfer au with megan

His alarm wakes him before dawn. 

Natasha twitches next to him at the sound, and he vaguely registers that it’s about 4 o’clock, and time to get up and ready. Sighing, he pushes himself up, kicking the sheets back, rubbing a hand over his face and back through his hair as he feels Nat do the same on the other side of the bed. They’re both usually quick to rise on days like this, so they rise and rub the sleep from their eyes in silence, stepping through Natasha’s messy bedroom in the darkness. Only when she pads into the bathroom and tosses on the light, is he able to see, and find his bag waiting for him in the corner. While Nat brushes her teeth, he strips out of his underwear, pulls his wetsuit up around his waist, and drags a sweatshirt on, before walking out to the kitchen. 

He eats a banana cut up over granola, leaning against the kitchen counter as Nat gets dressed. It’s quiet, too quiet save for his crunching, and the darkest part of the night, just before sunrise, so there’s something peaceful about it. He likes hearing Natasha in the other room as well. They each finish what they’re doing around the same time, and when Nat meets him out in the kitchen, she tosses him an elastic. He thanks her with a laugh, puts his bowl in the sink, and ties his hair back as she grabs something for breakfast. 

When they’re both ready, Nat grabs her keys, and the two of them carry a cooler filled with water and food out to her garage. Downstairs, their boards are already lashed to the top of Nat’s Subaru, because the less time they have to spend here, getting everything ready, the more time they can spend in the water. They do everything they can the day before. 

The streetlights are all still on, but the dawn is gradually painting everything blue, and he watches everything the silhouettes of trees and buildings pass them by as they make their way to Laniakea. It’s going to be a busy day all along the North Shore, and there are a few other people on the beach when they arrive, but it doesn’t make much of a difference. It’s going to be a good day anyway, he can feel it, smell it in the cool, salty air that whips stray strands of hair back from his face. Nat parks along the side of the road closest to the sand, but they don’t bother hauling any of their stuff out of the car just, save for their boards; they’ll do that later after they catch a few decent breakers. 

As he peels out of his sweatshirt and pulls up his wetsuit, he and Nat talk about the rocks, where the waves are breaking today, and wax up their boards. The sea is already noisy, waves rolling and lashing against the shore. Good winter waves, he thinks, as he tucks his board up under his arm, and makes his way out onto the sand. Nat does the same, and tells him to watch out for the sea turtles. 

It’s November, not quite winter, so the is water rough. And this is what they live for, the slightly cooler, rougher waters, early mornings, and for Natasha (and most of the rest of the island), taking days off work in favor of spending them at the Pipeline. It’s salt and sand and lava rock, board wax and resin and sunscreen, and even though he ended up here by chance, he really doesn’t want to live anywhere else. He doesn’t want to _do_ anything else, which is... probably a problem in the long run, and why he can’t hold down a job, but he makes other excuses for that, and if he’s got a roof over his head, stuff to eat, he’s alright. 

It’s November,  and the sun is just about to break the horizon as he pushes to his feet and meets his first wave. 

 

-

 

Downstairs, the shop is churning to life, the sounds bleeding up through the floorboards to his bedroom. He probably should have been up earlier, for all that he took the day off, but he’s a light sleeper, and he figured when he heard Sam downstairs, it’d be enough to wake him, and so it is. There’s nails on the floorboard, a weight next to him on the bed, and a cold nose bumps at his hand. Inhaling deeply, he opens his eyes, and looks down at Lewis. 

“Up and ready to go huh...” He mumbles, voice heavy with sleep as he pats the dog on the head. 

When he finally blinks his eyes open, he notices the sun is already up, which means he is very, very late. Maybe too late. Kicking back the covers, he hops out of bed (and so does Lewis, quite enthusiastically), before tripping through the clothes and shoes on his floor to get to his dresser, where he tosses open a few drawers in search of his trunks. Once he finds it, he tugs them up his hips quickly, and tromps about the rest of his room to gather his things; shoes, sunscreen, wax, sunglasses, car keys? Car keys, towel, a shirt and shorts, which he all tosses in a backpack that he slings over his shoulder as he makes his way out into the living room, and to his front door. Lewis is hot on his heels the whole way, following the way he’d been trained--and anyway, he’s always excited to go to the beach. 

Downstairs, the lights were on in the workshop, and he could hear Sam banging around in the back, no doubt pulling a new board, or bringing out some equipment. Just as he reached the shop floor, Sam emerged from the back room, belt sander in hand.

“You’re late,” Sam says with a laugh, as he watches his friend and coworker make his way to the front of the surf shop. 

“Yeah, I didn’t think to set an alarm. You woke me up though, so thanks. I should be back a little after noon.” He pushes out the back door of the shop, holding it for Lewis so he can trot outside as well. The morning is a little cool, maybe 60 degrees, he thinks, but it’s definitely going to warm up soon. His board is waiting in the back of his Jeep, so he opens the driver’s side door, where Lewis hops in and maneuvers over to the passenger side before his owner gets in, tossing his bag in the backseat. 

He drives toward the coast and out of Haleiwa, though he’s not sure where he wanted to go just yet. Waimea would probably be crowded as all get out--well, everywhere would be, so it was mostly just picking the least congested beach by chance. Lewis barks as the wind flaps his ears back, his tongue lolling out of his mouth happily as the car sped along the highway. 

Turns out, he’s low on gas, and just as he’s passing Laniakea, he remembers that he’s only been there all of once, so he flips a U-turn, and makes his way back to the beach. As suspected, it’s fairly busy, but not as bad as Waimea Bay probably is. So he pulls up close to the sand underneath a few trees, and tugs his keys from the ignition. Lewis doesn’t wait for him to open any doors, just vaults out of the space where the car’s window should be, and waits on the sand, watching his owner gather his things from the back of the Jeep. 

As he waxes down his board, he looks out at the sea, where the water is golden with the sun, a shattered mirror of the sky, save for where the waves are breaking a few hundred feet off shore. There’s a cloud or two in the sky, and in the hills behind them, but otherwise, the day looks to be just about as good as it can get. 

 

-

 

The waves are small today, barely above Bucky’s waistline, but they’re solid, moving and breaking smoothly. And anyway, if he’d wanted big waves, he would have gone to Waimea and had his ass handed to him. So these are fine, good, really, and the water is warmer than he’d expected. After a few hours, he and Natasha had taken a break, drying off in the sand, under the morning sun and having a few bites to eat as they watched people traipse along the beach. Before his hair had a chance to dry completely, Bucky was pushing himself off the sand, grabbing his board again, and jogging out to the water. 

Now that it’s a little further into the morning, people are coming and going pretty regularly. There are a few to his right as he paddles out, but he doesn’t pay them any more mind than he usually does, because when he’s out there, he might as well be alone. Even Natasha disappears from him sometimes, but he prefers it that way. This kind of headspace, this _nothingness_ he gets into when he’s riding, or when he ducks into the curl of a wave, isn’t like anything he’s ever experienced. There are few feelings better, he thinks, and the only thing that might trump The Feeling is sex. Even then it’s close. 

That only gets interrupted by other people. By a girl pushing up in front of him, who he has to very nearly avoid by cutting out. By someone, a guy, he thinks, behind him who shouts, “Behind you,” and then “Shit!” because the nose of his board hits the tail of Bucky’s, who doesn’t have time to say a damn thing before his board is spun out from under his feet, and he plunges into the water, head first. 

He tumbles in the wake of the breaking wave, head over heels in a way he’s pretty much used to, so he squints his eyes closed, hopes he doesn’t hit his head, and waits to break the surface. Once the wave passes, and he can push himself to the surface of the water, where he spits and looks around for his board. It’s floating around a few feet away from him, and when he drags himself up onto it, he looks around for the guy, though Bucky hadn’t caught a glimpse of him. Sighing to himself, he takes another look around, just in case, before paddling back to shore. 

Natasha isn’t there, no doubt still in the watcher, so he pops the trunk to her car, and roots out some lunch to wait for her. It takes a while, so he naps a bit, warm, with sand stuck to his skin in places, but otherwise completely content. He only dozes, and can still hear the sea, the voices of people on the beach, a dog barking, but not long later, Natasha comes back. They sit in the trunk of her car and eat a little more, talking about this and that like they usually do, people watching. 

“Wow,” Natasha says, giving a very subtle nod in the direction of a blond guy walking up the beach. In their general direction, but there are a lot of other things in their direction too. He’s got a surfboard tucked up under one arm, and a black dog, the dog that’d been barking, is prancing along at the guy’s heels. 

“Never seen him before,” Bucky remarks, popping a grape in his mouth and biting down to make the fruit pop. 

“Probably some Haole on vacation,” she says, very simply, as if it’s fact. Bucky stills, turning to look at her with a grin. 

“Haole?” He laughs. “Sorry, last time I checked, _Romanoff_ wasn’t Hawaiian.” A hint of a smile teases the corners of her lips, and Bucky just laughs again when she elbows him. Again, though, she nods out at the beach, and when Bucky looks, the guy _is_ pointedly headed in their direction. 

“Hey,” he calls, which, is odd but. Bucky takes the bait because the guy is a regular Adonis. Dripping sea water and sun-bleached blond hair, he walks up to where the sand ends, and sticks his board in the sand. “Just wanted to apologize, I was the guy that hit you.” He waves a hand, smiling and squinting one eye closed against the sun. 

“Oh right,” Bucky says, and gets to his feet to take a few steps down on the sand and get a closer look at this guy. The look he gives the blond is probably pretty blatant, but Bucky doesn’t care all that much. He gives the guy a bright smile, shading his eyes with his hand. “No problem man, it happens.” 

“Yeah,” the blond says, and he’s smiling too, and _looking._ “I’m Steve.” 

He holds out a big, tanned hand, and Bucky gladly takes it. 

“Bucky.” 

 

-

 

There’s nothing like a nice hot shower after you’ve spent all morning surfing. 

Nor is there anything like having a hot blond with you, in said hot shower, kissing you like he’s drowning. 

There’s sand in Bucky’s hair that washes away in the stream water when Steve’s fingers slide through it to grip and tug Bucky a little closer. The brunet grunts, palming Steve’s ass, gripping it in handfuls because-- “Christ, you’ve got a great ass.” 

It’s not his best dirty talk, but Steve laughs against his mouth, so whatever. That stuff happens, and Bucky laughs too, just before he presses in for another kiss, because Steve’s got _great_ lips too. 

“Thanks,” Steve pants, the hint of a voice still in his laugh as their mouths slide together, wet and open, “I think.” 

Bucky chuckles softly again, grinding forward to rub his cock against Steve’s, although it’s a little too slippery for that to be effective for too long. “Um - “ Bucky mumbles, reluctant to break the kiss, “Do you want to uh - what do you - “

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, hot against Bucky’s lips. “Yeah I’m getting wrinkly.” He laughs again, he’s all soft laughter and bright smiles, every one of which reaches his eyes. His hands are firm and sure where they grip Bucky’s shoulders. 

“Okay.” He sighs, turning away from the warmth of the other man’s body to twist the shower knob, and cut off the water. 

It’s not like Bucky had been looking to go home with the guy, even after all the gawking he did as they talked at the beach, but there was something... he didn’t want to say _alluring,_ but it was like he was being dragged into this guy’s--Steve’s--orbit. It was a bit strange, but Bucky could never resist blue eyes, especially not when they came with, well, the whole rest of the package. 

And Steve had, for all that he looked like your typical mid-western boy, given as much as he had got from Bucky, in the way of once-overs and smiles full of innuendo. Initially, they’d parted ways, and Bucky went back to talk to Natasha, before they caught the last few waves of the day. It was a little disappointing not to have at least asked for Steve’s number, Bucky thought as he was pulling on a pair of shorts, warm and dry compared to his wetsuit, but then of course that is when Steve’s Jeep stopped next to them on the road. 

“Hey,” he’d called, smiling over at Bucky, eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. Bucky couldn’t help but grin, because he _absolutely_ knew where this was going. Or at least where he would really, _really_ like it to go. At very least he’d get the guy’s number. 

But then somehow he’d ended up hopping into Steve’s Jeep after slotting his board in back, and giving Nat a wide grin. She just pursed her lips and waved as they drove off. 

And that’s how they ended up back at Bucky’s apartment, tracking sand through his house as they kissed and stumbled out of their clothes. It was great. Fantastic, really, the sand under his feet and on the cold tile of his bathroom, Steve’s warm hands, his lips. His everything. 

Now, they’re free of sand, skin rubbed soft and pink by it, and god it feels good, everything feels good about this, and Bucky doesn’t just mean the fact that he’s going to have sex; it’s the atmosphere, maybe, or just the fact that he’s high on The Feeling, and now Steve. He makes quick work of toweling off, like Steve, and doesn’t even bother with his hair, letting it hang loose and drip down his shoulders, back, and chest. Once both of them drop their towels, they’re touching again, quick and anxious, although it’s been that way for the good twenty minutes they spent in the shower as well. 

Taking Steve by the hips, Bucky kisses him open mouthed and hot, before maneuvering out into his bedroom, which ends up being a bit of a task, but neither of them are all that keen to stop touching. Still, he manages to move, backwards, in what he hopes is the direction of his bed, and is successful when he feels the backs of his knees hit the bed. Quick as that happens, he turns them both till he has Steve’s back toward the bed, and Bucky takes a step then, not so much pushing as he was crowding the other men back, back till the both fell to the mattress with a soft bounce. 

Steve laughed again. 

They break the kiss just long enough to shift up the bed a bit, and only that long, even when Bucky reaches up to his nightstand. He was hoping to grope a little and find a condom, and lube, but his nightstand is an unfortunate mess, so he ends up knocking aside a hunk of wax, his alarm clock, headphones, some sort of wrapper (which he hopes isn’t a condom wrapper), and a few other things he can’t quite discern. 

Steve draws back a little, looking up at Bucky with a slightly expectant expression. “Do you um. Need a little help?” He asks, smiling furtively. 

“No,” Bucky laughs breathily, and now that he’s free of the kiss, he stretches up a bit to rummage through his bedside table’s drawer, “The kissing didn’t help.” He hears Steve chuckle lightly again, and then there are hands on his waist, lips on his chest in a way that makes his movements stutter for a moment. He lets out a sigh, groping for what he thinks is a condom wrapper, just as the warmth of Steve’s mouth closes over Bucky’s nipple. It draws a soft grunt from him, but he clamps the corner of the condom wrapper between his teeth, and goes back for the lube. There’s too much shit in his drawer. 

“Sure this won’t work?” He asks with another laugh, as he picks up a tin of Sex Wax and shows it to Steve, who snorts and dissolves into laughter as well. 

“I think it might make things a little harder,” he replies, raising his eyebrows at Bucky as the brunet tosses the wax on the floor, and leans down for another slow, indulgent kiss. 

Eventually he retrieves the little bottle of lubricant, and their laughter dies off, if only a bit. Again they kiss for a while longer, until both of them are breathing hard, and Bucky has to pull away, though only long enough to press his lips along the column of Steve’s neck, skirting over his Adam’s apple. 

“This cool?” He raises his head to ask, simultaneously taking up the bottle of lube, and popping the cap. Licking his lips, Steve nods quickly. 

“Yeah,” he breathes, chest rising and falling just under Bucky’s chin, “Very.” He gave another little smile that Bucky can’t help but return with a smirk. 

He doesn’t take too much time getting Steve ready, mostly because the blond hurries him. Bucky opens him up slow at first, working his way up to three fingers, listening to the soft sounds Steve makes the whole time. They’re all breathy, and sometimes almost sound pained, but in the best way possible, and his expression echoes all of that. He’s gorgeous, really really stunning, Bucky can’t help but thinking, and he lets as much slip out in between kisses. Steve smiles at that and runs his fingers through Bucky’s hair. 

It’s not long later that he grabs the condom off the bed himself and tears it open with his teeth, while Bucky watches, somewhat awed. 

“What?” Steve pants pale eyebrows raised. Bucky wets his lips and sighs, slowly dragging his fingers free of the other man’s body. 

“Nothing,” he replies with a tight laugh, and reaches out to take the condom from Steve. The blond rolls onto his side just a little and Bucky has to smile, as he rolls the condom down over his cock, because Steve definitely... knows what he wants. And Bucky likes that a lot. 

He likes that and he likes that Steve can laugh during sex, can smile and murmur things to Bucky, that he doesn’t take it _too_ incredibly seriously. Maybe it’s just him, and maybe it’s just this time, but it’s exactly what Bucky... wants in a partner. Or something like that. 

At first, he tries to take his time, which is somewhat of a farce on his part, because all he really wants to do is let go and _pound_ into Steve, but he figures that’s not really polite for a one night stand. But it’s hard, it’s so fucking hard to keep his composure when he’s inside Steve, who is _tight_ and hot around him, not to mention the expanse of muscle and skin of his back pressed all along Bucky’s front. And the way he moved back against Bucky--it’s too much. 

Thankfully, Steve seems to feel the same. Eventually he reaches back and clutches at Bucky’s hip, his ass, fingers digging in hard before he turns his head slightly, toward Bucky. “C’mon, harder. ‘s good.” His voice is little more than a breath, panted out between his parted lips. Bucky looks at Steve for a few moments, his whole body still for a few moments, before he nods, and takes a hold of Steve’s hip. 

The pace he sets after that isn’t hard, but it’s just what he needs, and seems to be just what Steve likes. They kiss when they can, Bucky leaning over the blond’s shoulder to capture his lips for a few moments, before breaking away to gasp, and thrust into Steve’s body a little quicker. Bucky isn’t all that loud during sex, and it seems Steve isn’t either, but their labored breathing is loud in his ears, behind the soft slap of skin on skin. 

 

-

 

Steve stares at the ceiling, one arm curled up above his head on the pillow, and the other draped over his stomach. Bucky had gone to the bathroom to clean up, or something, Steve’s not... really sure. He’s trying not to look as dazed as he feels. It’s not that it’s been a _while_ since he’s had sex--he’s pretty average in that respect--it’s just that it’s been a while since he’s had sex that was that _good._ And this wasn’t earth shattering or anything, just _really_ good. 

The bathroom light shuts off, leaving the light of the sunset to illuminate the room, and Bucky makes his way out, tying his hair back again. Like he’ had it at the beach. Steve watches the other man, unabashed in his nakedness, as he walks toward the bed. 

“What?” Bucky asks, a small smile on his face and a washcloth in his hands. With a sigh, Steve shakes himself out of his haze, and turns toward the brunet as he climbs into bed. 

“Nothing,” Steve replies, smiling a little. He takes the offered washcloth, wipes down his stomach and soft cock, but doesn’t know what to do with it after that. Bucky just holds his hand out again, then tosses it in the general direction of his laundry hamper when Steve gives it back. 

“Seriously,” Bucky says with a small smile. He pulls up the sheet and slides under it, close to Steve. “What? You look a little-” He makes that motion with his pointer finger that people usually use to describe someone crazy. 

“Oh,” Steve laughs, shifting in bed, and reaching down to grab the edge of the sheet to pull it up over his waist. “No I just - that was um....” He pauses, because he doesn’t want to sound like an idiot just yet. 

Bucky raises his eyebrows, expectant, and Steve wants to kiss him. 

“It hasn’t been like that in a while,” the blond replies, but Bucky still looks a little inquisitive. 

“Like...?”

Laughing, Steve rolls onto his other side, so he’s face to face with Bucky, and their noses nearly touch. He kisses Bucky, quick and soft, but the brunet sighs into it, a hand coming up to brush through Steve’s hair. 

“That good,” he murmurs, his smile subtle now, like it’s a secret. Humming, Bucky leans forward to kiss Steve again, and moves closer, so their stomachs nearly touch. 

“Thanks?” He says when they break, and both of them start laughing. Not long later, Bucky yawns, and turns over on his back again, closing his eyes. “I’m going to pass out. You’re welcome to stay if you want I um - yeah, you can stay.” The smile he gives Steve is wistful, and the blond grins in return, and nods. 

“Alright.” 

“Answer me something first, though.” Bucky peeks one eye open to look at the man next to him. 

“Okay,” Steve answers, a little wary, but he’s still smiling none the less. 

“What’s a guy like you doing down here?” 

“A guy like me?” 

“Foreigner. Pointedly not Hawaiian.” 

Steve laughs a little, shifting against the pillow, pressing his face against it. 

“You aren’t either,” he points out, watching as Bucky smiles again. 

“No.” 

“Then what’s a guy like you doing down here?” 

“Army brat.” 

“Really?” Steve asks, because that seems...serendipitous. Or something like that. 

“Yep. Your turn.” 

“Army. Fort Shafter.” 

There are a few seconds of silence, and then Bucky opens his eyes to look at Steve for a few more moments. 

“Really?” He asks, sounding truly surprised. 

“Yeah. I was stationed there.” 

“Was?” 

Going quiet, Steve smiles. It’s been a while since he’s had to explain this, and he supposes he doesn’t, not like he did with Sam, but this feels to easy. It feels so, so easy with Bucky, everything does, and that’s probably why he’s still here. 

“I was discharged a few years ago,” he says softly, smile waning just a bit. A frown rumples Bucky’s brow, but he doesn’t speak for a bit longer. 

“For?” 

“Guess.” 

Again, quiet. 

“Not... not because this, right?” Bucky’s voice is quiet as he waves a hand between the two of them. Steve nods, even with his head on the pillow. “Wow,” Bucky says, “I’m sorry.” 

“Nah, it’s fine. I’ve put it behind me, you know? Just had to move on from there, so. It wasn’t so bad,” Steve replies with a small smile, and Bucky nods a little. 

“That’s a good way to think. I know I would have put up the biggest friggin’ fight they’d ever seen.” 

“Yeah, I try to pick my battles. I’d had one tour in Iraq, which to be quite honest, was more than enough for me, and no doubt any man, so...” 

Bucky frowned, and was quiet for a moment. He was quiet for a long, long time actually, and Steve couldn’t really discern the expression on his face. 

“Man I’m sorry. I wouldn’t eve have guessed.” The laugh he gave was a bit tight. Steve doesn’t know what to say to that really, so he just looks down, and licks his lips. “Christ, I’m sorry for making you talk about it out of the blue, after uh - “

“Nah, don’t worry about it. It’s nice, actually, I don’t do it a lot,” the blond says quietly, looking up at Bucky again, meeting his gaze. 

“‘m sorry. I wish I could say I understand but. My dad never talked about his service or anything. He was a stoic kinda guy, y’know?” 

“Was?”

“Yeah,” Bucky laughs again, tight, and his mouth twists a little. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Thanks.” 

“... Well thats... something to talk about before you go to sleep.” Steve chuckled, a bit awkwardly as well, but it made Bucky smile again. 

“Then can I kiss you?” His smile turns into a wily grin. 

“Yeah.” 

 

-

 

When Bucky wakes up, he’s warm, and his room is dark. He’s hideously comfortable, and really, _really_ doesn’t want to have to wake up, just wants to close his eyes and go right back to sleep but... there’s a weight resting over his side. That’s where the warmth is coming from, and _oh yeah,_ he had sex earlier, didn’t he. With Steve. Steve, the vet with a laugh that Bucky _really_ wants to get used to hearing. 

So he supposes he can wake up for that. Slowly, he starts to move, inhaling deeply before yawning, and bringing a hand up to rub at his eyes. Behind him, Steve stirs to life too, the arm he has draped over Bucky’s waist sliding back as he rolls onto his back. Bucky does the same now that he’s got the space, and turns to face Steve, who is still in the process of waking up. He doesn’t want to think the word “cute”, because this is a dude in his twenties who’s been to war and all, but Bucky can’t help it; Steve looks pretty darn cute with his rumpled blond hair, and his eyes blinking half open. He also can’t help the smile that creeps up on his lips, and after a yawn, Steve looks over at him. The blond doesn’t say anything, just laughs a little, closing his eyes again as he rolls over onto his side. 

“Mmmmnhey... “ Steve mutters, opening an eye again to look at Bucky. There is almost something shy about it, sweet, so once again, Bucky can’t help when he stretches across the space between them to steal a kiss. He lingers a little, reveling in the soft, sleep warm lips under his. 

“Hey,” Bucky mumbles back, once there’s a breath of space between them. Steve yawns again. 

“I slept hard,” he chuckles, apparently not to bothered by the seemingly random kiss. Which is... fine. This has all felt miraculously comfortable, like they’d been waking up next to one another for years. Thinking that makes Bucky feel a bit odd, but at the same time it’s really _really_ nice. He’s only this comfortably with Natasha, and even then that’s a lot different. 

“Yeah?” Bucky smiles and sighs, shifting a bit. His stomach growls unexpectedly, and both of them look down at the same time, before Bucky laughs, and rubs his belly. “Guess I’m hungry.”

“You had a long day,” Steve replies with a grin full of innuendo that Bucky just loves. 

“I guess,” the brunet says, licking his lips as he looks at Steve, and contemplates. “You wanna grab something to eat?” He asks, raising his eyebrows, because they might as well. Bucky doesn’t have shit in the kitchen because he’s hardly ever home any more, not that he can cook anyway even if he did have food. 

“Sure,” Steve replies, still smiling, and it’s just. So good because it’s just gorgeous and full of _honest_ glee. Bucky likes it. He likes Steve. 

 

They hop back in Steve’s Jeep and drive around town a bit, before deciding on a local food truck that serves really good poke. At least in Bucky’s opinion. 

“I can’t do raw fish,” Steve says with a twist of his lips. He settles on some sort of fried shrimp and rice, while Bucky gets tuna, and they both get beer. Bucky pays. 

There are plastic picnic tables and chairs set up near the truck, under a little rented party tent all hung with white lights, all of it looking out on the rest of the city, and beyond that, the beach. A breeze is blowing, cool off of the sea, but it’s still a warm night. Steve and Bucky take a table at the corner of the tent, and dig in. 

“So, if you’re uh - “ Bucky prompts, washing down a mouthful of poke with his beer, before starting again. “Not in the army anymore, what’re you doing here? Like for work. I haven’t seen you around.” 

Steve raises his eyebrows and sticks his fork in his rice. “I work down at a surf shop near Waialua. Mostly I do custom designs for the boards, but I help make em too.” 

Bucky stops mid-chew to raise his eyebrows. “No shit?” He says around another mouthful of food. Steve smiles. 

“No shit,” he nods, “I draw, y’know, so. It was kind of the only... qualification or talent or anything I figured I had after the army, and I was lucky I got hired.” 

“Wow. So you’re an artist huh?” Bucky says, sitting back in his seat and smiling as he tucks his hair behind his ears. “Thats uh. That’s sexy.” Steve laughs at that, and he looks a little shy again at that, and maybe, just maybe that’s a flush in his cheeks. 

“It’s not a big deal really,” he laughs, spearing a shrimp with his fork. “What about you?” 

Sighing, Bucky shrugs, pushing chunks of fish around in the little bowl, before taking another bite. “I’m in between jobs. As it were.” He winks, reaching forward for his beer. Steve smiles at that, chewing before he can answer. 

“Nothing wrong with that,” he says, “You don’t strike me as the beach bum type though.” 

Bucky starts laughing at that. “No, I don’t think I am. I’m from Brooklyn, originally, so no, I’m definitely not.” 

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up so fast that Bucky thinks they’re going to melt into his hairline. 

“You’re joking,” he says, rather serious now. That catches Bucky a little off guard, but he shrugs anyway. 

“Nah. Born in Indiana, but we lived in Brooklyn a long, long time. I came here after my dad died,” Bucky takes another sip of his beer. “Why?” 

“I’m - I’m from Brooklyn. Born and raised.” He laughs, although it’s stuttered and a little tight. Bucky just considers that for a moment, beer bottle resting against his lips. 

“Well ain’t that something.” 

 

-

 

They spend quite a while at the picnic tables talking, before Bucky gets a text from his friend, the one he had been at the beach with earlier, about someone having a bonfire down at Ali’i Beach Park. He texts her back before looking back to Steve with a bright look in his eye. The blond already knows what he’s going to ask, so he just grins, and says, “Sure,” before collecting his trash, and pushing up out of his little plastic chair. 

From there they drive to Ali’i, talking over the wind that whips around them as the road winds toward the beach. They can see the fire before they see anything else, bright and tall among the few palm trees that litter the grass before the sand, and after a few moments, shadows are thrown into relief and move over the ground. 

“I can’t guarantee you anything but beer, and the pleasure of my company,” Bucky tells Steve as they both get out of the Jeep, slamming their doors behind them. 

“That’s sounds just fine by me,” Steve laughs, pocketing his keys. 

They make their way to the sand, where the fire is blazing and people mull around it’s perimeter, cups in hand. 

“So this is where you’ve been all day,” someone, a woman, says to Bucky, as she approaches them. It’s his friend, the redhead from earlier. Steve gives a small smile. 

“Yeah well,” Bucky just shrugs and smirks, shooting Steve a quick glance, “Can you blame me?” 

“Natasha,” the woman says, holding her hand out to Steve. 

“Steve,” he replies, shaking her hand, before she looks to Bucky again. 

“The usual. Tony’s got a couple kegs over by his van. Clint brought food.” She walks with them when Bucky begins to make his way closer to the van that’s pulled up several feet from the fire. A few people are loitering around where it’s hatch is raised, but Steve guesses where the ‘couple’ kegs are. He smiles to himself and shakes his head. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been anywhere with a _couple_ kegs,” he says, making both Bucky and Natasha look back at him. 

“Yeah, that’s Tony,” Natasha replies with a shrug. 

“He might have a problem. But don’t say I said that,” Bucky adds, stage whispering. Steve just nods. 

“Noted.” 

He meets Tony a few moments later, although it’s not much of a meeting, because the other man is a just about half past tanked. Steve just laughs and shakes his hand as Bucky gets him a beer. 

“You sure you can stay?” Bucky says as he turns back from the keg, two plastic cups in his hands. “Your dog gonna be okay?” 

“Yeah, he’s at the shop with Sam,” Steve answers, taking one, and running his finger around in the beer’s foam. 

“Sam?” Bucky asks, “That your boyfriend or something? Not in some sort of ‘open relationship’ deal are you?” He takes a sip of his beer, looking at Steve over the rim of his cup. 

“No, god, not at all. Sam’s my boss, I live above the board shop. I dropped Lewis off there.” 

“Alright. Good.” Bucky nods, watching Steve take a drink. 

For a while they mull around the fire with Natasha, watching other people do the same. Some are splashing around in the surf, some are laid out on towels in the sand. The three of them drink and talk, sitting in the sand just within the fire’s halo of flickering light. Combined with the soft shushing of the waves on the shore, it makes a nice night to be out. 

Every once in a while, Steve, Bucky, or Natasha will make trips to refill all of their drinks, and on Steve’s second turn, Bucky gets up and follows him. He walks up next to the blond, silent, and takes two of the cups from him, stacking one inside the other. 

“I told Nat uh... none too discreetly to take a hike,” Bucky says quietly, walking close enough to Steve that their shoulders brush. Steve snorts and laughs, looking over at the other man. Somewhere behind them, the sound of a guitar starts up, just something soft. Bucky rolls his eyes. “Tony fancies himself a purist.” 

“Ah. I’m surprised I haven’t met you, or Nat or Tony before this.” By then they’re at the kegs, and Steve gives it a pump while Bucky picks up the faucet to fill both of their cups. 

“I don’t usually surf this far south, unless Natasha gets to pick. I mean I live close but. Waimea’s usually where I’m at.” 

“That’s still Haleiwa,” Steve offers with a smile, before taking a sip of his beer. It’s good, and still cold. 

“Yeah, still.” Bucky shrugs. 

“It’s a little too rough up there for me just yet,” Steve says, leaning back against the van’s bumper. It’s a VW, so he gets the “purist” thing that Bucky said. Or maybe not, Steve would just call it being oldschool, or a hippie. But that’s just him. 

“Yeah? You don’t look new to this,” Bucky replies, raising his eyebrows as he hands Steve his cup, and hops up into the trunk of the van. 

“Waimea in the winter is still a bit much for me,” Steve says with a nod, sipping his drink again. He’s... got a decent buzz, his smiles feel easier, and he finds himself wanting to gravitate toward Bucky. 

“Mmm... we’ll have to take you up there sometime then,” Bucky murmurs, setting his drink to the side, and scooting back further into the van. “C’mere.” He motions with his hand and Steve just looks at him for a moment, before he sort of snaps back to himself, and finds a flat surface on which to set his cup. By the time he turns back, Bucky is mostly laying in the back of the van, which is predictably covered in blankets.   

Steve lays back too, shifting close as he can, even though it’s a little awkward because, despite the blankets, the floor of the van is hard. Bucky doesn’t seem to mind; he rolls on his side and immediately reaches for Steve, hand hooking behind the blond’s neck to draw him in for a kiss. It’s warm, everything is warm, Steve can feel the warmth of the fire against the soles of his bare feet, and Bucky tastes like beer. 

“Um... ‘s okay? With like... Tony,” Steve laughs against Bucky’s lips. 

“Yeah, done this plenty of times,” Bucky mumbles, gripping Steve a little harder, trying to get closer. Except moments later he stops, and pulls back to look at Steve. “That sounded bad. I uh...” 

“No, don’t worry about it,” Steve sighs, shaking his head a little, “Just making sure we could do this for a while.” 

And they definitely do. They kiss until Steve’s lips go numb, till he’s pulling back to take a few quick breaths. He doesn’t _remember_ anything so nice, because even though he’s somewhere close to drunk, he can still hear the fire crackling outside even though Bucky’s breathing is loud in his ears. Bucky’s hands are on him too, pushing his shirt up so he can touch and skirt them from Steve’s back to his ribs, to the soft spot between his ribs and his hip. They dip lower too, sliding under the thin cotton of Steve’s shorts to grip at his ass again--something Bucky seemed to like doing, and that made Steve chuckle. 

Eventually though, that escalates, and Steve worries more about getting Bucky’s pants off than the fact that there are several people not ten feet away. He mumbles something about leaving in between kisses, and Bucky mumbles back something that sounds like, “Yes please,” and they part to sit up. Taking a quick look around, they see that next to no one had noticed them gone, or at very least noticed the feet dangling out the back of Tony’s van, but it seemed as though no one had, for they were all absorbed in their own little corners of shadow. 

Bucky jogs across the sand to say goodbye to Natasha, while Steve waits on the grass, car keys in hand. Moments later Bucky joins him, and they make their way back to Steve’s Jeep. 

“You uh... wanna go back to my place or yours?” He asks, and Steve shrugs. 

“Don’t mind either way,” he replies, because all he really wants is Bucky alone. 

“Which is closer?” 

“Yours,” Steve says with a grin, and Bucky returns it. 

 

They pick up where they left off on Bucky’s couch. His balcony doors are open, letting in the breeze because inside, it’s warm, hot where they touch and move together. This time is slower than the last, because they’re not in such a hurry to discover everything they can about the other, while also attempting to get off. Now, though, they take their time, touch each other the way they really want. Bucky likes Steve’s rough hands, rough from nicking his fingers on a belt sander, and dry from days in the ocean. Steve loves Bucky’s long hair, likes tugging on it so he can tip Bucky’s head back, and drag his lips along the column of the brunet’s neck. 

It’s slower than last time, but just as good. Afterward, Bucky laughs and rests his forehead against Steve’s, tugging at the blond’s shirt, the hem of which is messy with their come. “Sorry,” Bucky breathes, and Steve grins too. 

“Don’t worry about it.” He smooths his hands down Bucky’s arms slowly, sighing as he feels the muscle move slightly under his hand. The brunet sits up then, kneeling between Steve’s legs, one of which is hanging off the couch, and pushes his hair back from his forehead with his clean hand. He licks his lips and looks down at himself, the few dark spots at the bottom of his shirt, before whipping it off, and climbing from the couch. Steve likes watching him move, there’s something graceful about it, the same sort of grace that a boxer has, or a dancer. Might be the surfing, he thinks. 

“Here, looks like I’ve got laundry to do anyway,” Bucky says, holding his hand out, which Steve just looks at for a moment. He sits up then, and pulls his shirt off, handing it to Bucky. While the other man walks down to what he figures is the laundry room, Steve just lies on the couch, sated and maybe a little sleepy. The buzz is about worn off, but he feels good, really good in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. And that might be the beer and the endorphins and what not, but right now he doesn’t really want to worry about that. Instead he closes his eyes and listens to the trees rustling just outside, and tucks an arm behind his head. 

“Crashing out on me already?” Bucky’s voice breaks Steve’s reverie momentarily, and the blond opens his eyes to see Bucky holding out a washcloth to him. 

“Nah, just... checking my eyelids for holes,” he says with a smile, reaching up to take the cloth, and wipes his stomach and chest clean. Bucky apparently did the same, and is in a new pair of shorts. Steve hasn’t even bothered tucking his dick back into his. “Thanks,” he tells Bucky. 

“Sure. Lets head upstairs.” It’s as easy as that, too. He doesn’t ask if Steve wants to stay, but then again, Steve doesn’t protest, he just stands up, pulls his shorts up, and follows Bucky to the corner of the room, where a set of stairs leads to his loft bedroom. 

They slide back into Bucky’s bed, pull the messy sheets up around them, and move together like... like they’ve been doing this for quite a while. It feels a little strange, and the look on Bucky’s face says that he gets it too, somehow. Neither of them say a word about it though, because what would they say? “Think we met in a past life?” Either way, Steve leaves it be, and curls himself around Bucky, comfortable as he’s ever been in someone else’s bed. 

 

-

 

“You can stay, y’know,” Bucky says the next morning, over the rim of his cup of tea. Across the table, Steve is pulling on his shirt, still a little warm from the drier. 

“Not sick of me yet?” The blond replies with a smile, running a hand through his damp hair. 

“Nah. The company I usually have is 99% Natasha, 1% her random friends.” He shrugs. “Plus it’s raining.”

 He feels like he might be pushing it a little, that he might sound desperate or something, but he just likes Steve’s company. He likes _Steve_ and it’s... different. Somehow he wants more. 

Steve sighs and looks out the window, a slight, promising smile on his lips. “Yeah. Alright.” 

And Bucky smiles devilishly as Steve grabs his phone off of the counter. He calls off work, and once Bucky finishes up his breakfast, they end up back in bed. For the rest of the day--well for the most part, they break to watch TV a little, then to eat, to shower in the evening, and lastly for dinner. It’s fucking _great_ , and Bucky, he wants to just mean the sex but he means the... the way he feels when he’s around Steve. Again, he doesn’t mean to sound desperate, because he’s not, honestly, even the bit about the company, but he does _love_ being around Steve in a way he hasn’t felt before. Or at least he doesn’t remember feeling like that but it’s... weird? It’s like he wants to _mainline Steve._

Well he does more than just want, he pretty much does. They spend that day at his house, fucking, talking and watching TV when they’re not doing that. If Bucky didn’t feel like he needed to get a job once in a while, or be a productive adult he’d probably want to do this kind of thing all day every day. Or at least for the rest of the week anyway. 

The next day the go to Waimea, despite Steve’s protests that he won’t be any good, and despite the fact that it’s still raining. The water is a little choppy, but the storm isn’t bad, and in Bucky’s eyes, Steve does just fine, when the waves are good. Several other people are there too, barely a handful, which is a little surprising, because rain doesn’t usually stop anyone. So they surf for a while, yelling over the sound of the rain and the waves when they can, and while Bucky is usually in his own sort of space when he’s riding, having Steve with him is almost better than being alone. 

At one point, a few hours in, he loses sight of Steve after a wave curls in over him, one Bucky had cut out of not long before. For a few moments, Bucky just looks around, pushing water out of his eyes, when Steve’s board surfaces in the foam of the last wave. That’s something at least, but not at all comforting. 

“Steve!” Bucky shouts, loud as he can so it reaches out over the water. He paddles over and gets a hand on Steve’s board, looking wherever he can without getting bowled over by a wave. He has to duck into a few to let them pass as he searches for any sign of Steve. A few more times, he shouts Steve’s name, and paddles back to where he thought he last saw him but-- 

A few yards to his right something bobs to the surface, and of course it has to be Steve, so Bucky nearly bolts off of his board. “Steve!” He calls again, water in his mouth and his eyes as he cuts through the water. When he reaches the other man, Bucky sees he’s bleeding from a cut just above his eyebrow. “Fuck,” Bucky sighs. 

Steve looks a little disoriented, but when he looks back at Bucky, no worse for wear. Actually he smiles, and Bucky just takes his face between his hands, while attempting to still tread water. “Are you okay?” He shouts over the rain, not bothering to glance as another wave passes over them, and washes away the blood trickling from Steve’s forehead. 

“I’m fine,” the blond replies, and he’s mostly supporting them both. Bucky just runs his thumbs over Steve’s cheeks for a moment. “Bucky I’m fine.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky says, and leans in to crush their mouths together. He’s not sure what it is, maybe relief, but he just kisses Steve as another wave rolls in over their heads. 

 

 

 

...

 

 

 

Lewis is barking at something outside the cabin like a maniac, and Steve groans, long and maybe a little loud. But he really doesn’t want to be awake right now. Yesterday wasn’t exactly tiring, but Steve just wants to sleep. Might still be sleeping off jet lag. Bucky stirs at his side, mumbling something into his pillow, where half of his face is buried. The other half is pressed against Steve’s shoulder. 

“Lewis,” Steve calls, eyes still shut, clinging to sleep desperately. The dog keeps barking. 

“LEWIS,” Bucky yells, and Lewis shuts up. As of late, he’s started listening to Bucky more than Steve. He comes up to stand at the bottom of the ladder that leads up to the little space where Bucky and Steve _were_ sleeping soundly. 

“Probably wants to go out,” Steve mumbles, rubbing a hand over his face. Bucky just buries his face further between the pillow and the other man’s shoulder. 

“Not going down there,” is what Steve thinks he says. 

“Neither am I.” 

Lewis whines, quickly followed by two sighs. 

Steve rolls over and away from Bucky, before crawling over to the ladder. He climbs down and pads over to the sliding door, opens it and watches Lewis scamper out. “Leave it open,” Bucky calls from the loft, and Steve does. Lewis will come back, even though he’s not familiar with the terrain around the one-room cabin. Around Australia, period, but they’ve been here for a few days, and he’s been adapting pretty well to the other places they’ve been. 

Bucky wasn’t sure about bringing Lewis, one because they planned on surfing most of the time (that’s what these trips were about, that’s why they saved for nearly a year), and two, _“Doesn’t Australia have the most poisonous... everything... ever?”._ Steve just laughed and told him the dog would be fine, he’s been hanging out on the beach while Steve surfed for a while now.

Climbing back up to the loft, Steve smiles upon seeing Bucky all sprawled out on the mattress that mostly takes up the whole loft, blankets tangled around his feet, and there are locks of his hair in his face. “Wake up,” Steve says, quiet, as he crawls across the bed. 

“No,” Bucky mumbles back, and keeps his eyes closed. Steve laughs. 

“Yes. I’m up. C’mon. Be fair.” 

“Life’s not fair,” the brunet sighs, and turns on his side to curl up in a ball, probably to get away from Steve’s advances. Still, Steve grins and reaches out to grab Bucky’s ankle, tugging it so the other man has to straighten out, which is when Bucky starts laughing, despite keeping his eyes closed and resisting against Steve’s grip. 

That just ends up in the two of them wrestling around on the thin mattress, mussing up the sheets and pillows even more than they had been. They both laugh their way through it, but once Steve pins Bucky, hands above his head, their laughing dies off just a little, leaving soft smiles in their wake. 

“Guess I’m up,” Bucky sighs, slightly out of breath, as he tests Steve’s grip. 

“Mhm...” Steve mumbles, leaning down to kiss the brunet quickly, just a peck on the lips. 

“I am up for sex or...” Bucky cocks an eyebrow. 

“Dunno.” Tilting his head, Steve presses his lips to Bucky’s jaw and neck, just under his ear, and the corner of his jaw. 

“Sex then,” he says with a sigh, stretching a little, and arching up into Steve’s hands around his wrists. 

“No,” The blond mumbles in between kisses, and then draws back completely to look at Bucky’s face, “Breakfast.” He lets Bucky go then and sits back, watching his friend narrow his eyes. 

“Only if you make me pancakes.” 

“Then I’ll make you pancakes.” 

“And I’m not going out to the water today. I’m sore and tired and dry.” 

“Dry? Water isn’t the... opposite of dry?” Steve grins, and backs away toward the later. Downstairs Lewis pushes the door open a little more with his nose, and comes in, nails click-clacking along the wood floors of the cabin. 

“Not salt water,” Bucky grumbles, as he scoots across the bed to follow Steve as well. 

They’d surfed most of the day yesterday, just about from dawn till dusk, with breaks here and there for water and food and other necessities (sex). Still, though, it was probably a bit much even for them, when they’d spent the better part of a month and a half in hop-scotching around the world just to surf. California, Spain, South Africa, Indonesia, and then finally here, before heading home. Well, this was their second to last stop; after this was the Gold Coast in Queensland, then home. 

Quite honestly, Steve would be glad to see Oahu again, but Bucky liked traveling, liked sleeping in beds that weren’t his. It made sense though, after he’d spent his life on the move, and anyway, he wanted to see the world. Most importantly, he wanted to see it with _Steve,_ and he wanted to see its seas. They were all essentially the same, salt and water and seaweed, but all completely different, and not just in the way the waves broke. Sort of like people, he had told Steve one night in Bali, after they were back to their rooms and settled in for the evening. 

 _“Only the sea is a hell of a lot more temperamental than people,”_ Steve had said with a smile. 

 _“You think?”_ Bucky laughed, eyebrows raised, because no way were people less crazy than the sea. Or whatever, he was never good at metaphors and the like, especially when it came to the ocean. 

When Bucky climbs down from the ladder, Lewis greets him with a wagging tail and what looks like a smile, tongue lolling out of his mouth. 

“Do we really have to have pancakes _again?”_ Steve asks, from where he stands at the tiny “kitchen” counter. Bucky just drags over to the little couch-like thing that’s pushed up against the opposite wall. Lewis hops up onto it with him, crowding the man’s space and mostly laying in his lap. 

“You woke me up, it might as well be for something good. Anyway, you make good pancakes,” he replies, patting Lewis’ head. 

Steve looks over his shoulder at them both, a funny little smile on his face as he does. Bucky cocks an eyebrow. 

“Huh?” He mutters, making Steve turn back to what he’s doing.

“Nothing,” The blond replies with a grin, and Bucky just leans his head back against the cushions, closes his eyes, and inhales the scent of frying batter.


End file.
